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THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN.
At last, in a place very dusty and bare,
Some little dead birds I had petted to sing,
Some little dead flowers I had gathered to wear,
Some withered thorns and an empty ring,
Some little dead birds I had petted to sing,
Some little dead flowers I had gathered to wear,
Some withered thorns and an empty ring,
Lay scattered. My fairy story is told.
(It does not please her: she has not smiled.)
What is it you say?—Did I find the gold?
Why, I found the End of the Rainbow, child!
(It does not please her: she has not smiled.)
What is it you say?—Did I find the gold?
Why, I found the End of the Rainbow, child!
THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN.
I know of a higher Mountain. Well?
"Do the flowers grow on it?" No, not one.
"What is its name?" But I cannot tell.
"Where———?" Nowhere under the sun!
"Do the flowers grow on it?" No, not one.
"What is its name?" But I cannot tell.
"Where———?" Nowhere under the sun!
"Is it under the moon, then?" No, the light
Has never touched it, and never can;
It is fashioned and formed of night, of night
Too dark for the eyes of man.
Has never touched it, and never can;
It is fashioned and formed of night, of night
Too dark for the eyes of man.
Yet I sometimes think, if my Faith had proved
As a grain of mustard seed to me,
I could say to this Mountain: "Be thou removed,
And be thou cast in the sea!"
As a grain of mustard seed to me,
I could say to this Mountain: "Be thou removed,
And be thou cast in the sea!"
